


Breaking the Ice

by honeybee_motorcyles



Series: Autistic!House [2]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Autism, M/M, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 09:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20525507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybee_motorcyles/pseuds/honeybee_motorcyles
Summary: Post season 5- While House was sick with a fever, Wilson had an epiphany about House’s childhood.





	Breaking the Ice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smallredboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/gifts).

> Notes: This story is a birthday present to David, Smallredboy! Happy Birthday!

Breaking the Ice

Wilson came home to a very dark loft. When he had left for work that morning, House wasn’t feeling well; he had a slight temperature. Wilson sighed and checked their bedroom. He froze, in the entranceway when he saw House’s fevered body. 

House laid on his back, blue eyes unfocus, breathing rapidly. “House,” Wilson said, crouching down next to him on the bed. He ran his fingers through House’s hair. 

“Umm…” House said, eyes directed at Wilson’s face. He looked so haggard. 

Wilson looked at him, worriedly. “House, you have a fever, I want to check you now.” 

House whimpered slightly.

“Where does it hurt, House?” Wilson asked, stroking House’s hair. Ever the carer, he was careful to sit at House’s left side.

“My head is killing me, Wilson. Lower your voice.” House scowled. 

“Okay,” Wilson obliged. “I need to check your temp first, Greg.” Wilson got the thermometer from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. After a minute he found a forehead thermometer. House had hated it, mainly it was because It was used on babies. House had sensory issues with cold, so He can’t do it on his armpits. 

He rolled the thermometer on House’s head. He shook his head and frowned. “It's 103.8.” He informed House. “Dammit, Greg,” He said, angry, but kept his voice low. “You're a doctor, you are the first person to note that, oh, I am sick. I am calling you an ambulance.”

House looked at him incredulously. “No, I don’t need a hospital, I just need you.” 

Wilson stopped, looking at House’s face. “House, you’re on anti-psychotics. Your immune system is shot. I’ll be bringing you to St. Sebastian’s or General.” Wilson said. He knew that House didn’t want to step foot at PPTH, because of what happened with Cuddy and the balcony. 

House nodded. 

He had autism when Nolan called his mother for the evaluation, she said, Yes, Greg, you have what they know as childhood schizophrenia, which is now called Autism.” 

‘Why hadn’t you inform me?’

‘Oh, honey, your father told me not to, because you’ll just use it as an excuse.’ 

‘Oh, mom,’ House had scowled. ‘Maybe if I had known, maybe this would never happen.’

“How?” Blythe had asked. 

“Missis House,” Nolan had said. “It was wrong not informing Greg that he had autism but I understand, but Greg is right if he knew that this scenario wouldn’t happen. Because he’ll be better equipped to handle a hallucination.”

His mother had looked contrite. 

In the end, House was prescribed Rispradol. One of the side effects of antipsychotics was a lower white cell count. Thus he had a harder time fighting off infection. 

After his stay at Mayfield, He and Wilson felt that he can’t come back to work. He had his medical license back. He instead elected to work from home. Thanks to Kutner, he had an online consulting firm. 

House hadn’t slept the whole night last night. Because he had been Emailing a doctor from California, about a confirmed case of Dengue Hemorrhagic Fever. House had diagnosed the patient on time. He would be all right.

Wilson had called the ambulance for him. “House, hang in there,” Wilson said, while House trembled in his arms.

Five minutes later, there was a knock on the apartment door. “Dr. Wilson, We’re here.” 

It came from a familiar voice, Chase. ‘Dammit!’ Wilson thought. “Chase, it’s open.” 

Chase came in with an EMT bag and two bearlike EMTs. “Chase,” Wilson asked, incredulously, looking at an unconscious House. He had passed out. “What are you doing here?” 

“Foreman wants him in the hospital because there are a confirm cases of Viral Meningitis going around, and PPTH is ground zero. “ Chase informed him. 

Wilson sighed. House would kill him for this, but if Chase was right, then he had no choice about the situation. “Let’s go.”

The ride to the hospital was uneventful, House lied their unconscious. “We’re here.” The driver said. 

They loaded House down the bus, Wilson, and Chase following behind. “50-year-old male, with Autism, fever of 103.8, phonophobia, suspected viral meningitis.” Chase was saying. “He is on Anti-psychotics.”

30 minutes later, Wilson was with House in a private hospital room. When the monitor beep. His fever is climbing. A nurse entered running, “We need icepacks, STAT!” 

Chase and the nurses clambered to lowered House’s temperature, to no avail. “We need to get him to an ice bath.”

As soon as Chase said ice bath, House froze, and said. “No!” 

Wilson and Chase stood, stun. “House,” Wilson turned House’s face. “We need to get you to an ice bath.” 

“No!” House shouted, getting hysterical now. 

Wilson had no choice, but to disobey Greg’s wishes. “I am his power of attorney, so, do it.” 

Chase and the nurses prepared House for an ice bath. Two orderlies carried him up. As soon as he hit the tub, House started to whale, then he has spoken.

“No, not again, I’ll be good, I am gonna be good,” House mumbled, looking down. 

Chase, Wilson, and the nurses stood, stunned. Then Chase asked, “Is he having a flashback?”

“Dad, I am going to be good….” House kept on talking. 

Wilson looked perplexed and horrified. He felt like shit, guilty was a more accurate term. The whole time he thought, that House didn’t want to see John, that the younger House was just dismissing his father. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

The funeral: He felt horrible about his role in the funeral. Blythe House called and had said, “You know him, James. He would just brush me off.” 

“What do you want me to do, Mrs. House? We aren’t talking anymore.” He had cringed then, to remember that conversation with Blythe. 

“Just get him here, James. That would be fine.” He had called Cuddy, and that was that. As they said, the rest is history.

Wilson was shuttered from his revery by a nurse. “Dr. Wilson, we’re done here?”

“Oh, thank you!”

A day and a half later, House was recovering in the hospital room. Wilson entered. “House, We need to talk,” Wilson said, he had no idea how he would start this conversation with House. 

Wilson closed the door. “House,” he said, anchoring his words on House’s name. “I had no idea, about your father.” 

House looked up at Wilson. “What?” He hadn’t expected. “Wilson? What happened while I was sick? Where in I might add, you brought me to a hospital, I didn’t want to be in.” House added angrily.

“I am sorry, House,” Wilson said, and tried to hold House’s hand, but House swatted his hand. 

House was diagnosed with influenza, and not meningitis. House was right technically, he just needed Wilson. But his temperature was up to 104.4. He remained unconscious for a day. 

This morning, House woke up. Wilson thought, to ask him question right then and there. He waited, for House to say something, After an interminable number of minutes: “What do you want to know?” 

Wilson thought about it for a while. “Why hadn’t you said anything, about your father.”

House looked up at Wilson and said. “That happened a while ago.” 

“No,” Wilson protested. “I know this happened a long time ago, but you need to talk about this with somebody.“ Wilson shouted, and House flinched.

Wilson felt guilty right away, he said in a soothing voice. “Why didn’t you tell me about your father?”

House sighed and, he felt embarrassed. “I didn’t want to bother you with my shit.”

“Even at his funeral?”

House noodled. 

“House, you were mumbling around. While you were in the tub.” Wilson whispered. “Did your father use that as punishment?”

House nodded again. “When I was from three to twelve, until I inform him he isn’t my father.” 

“Is it only the Ice bath?” 

House shook his head, no. “My father did much more, but I didn’t want to say anymore, Wilson.”

“Okay,” Wilson said, respecting House’s wishes for now. He climbed into the narrow hospital bed and hugged House to him. Chase found them like that a couple of hours later. 

The End


End file.
